Psych 101
by Rogue Requiem
Summary: College-aged Jonathan Crane meets with his least favorite professor to discuss a paper. Civil discourse does not make an appearance.


**A/N: I was given a prompt by editoress on Tumblr to write something featuring Jonathan Crane. This is that something.**

* * *

 _Psych 101_

This wasn't the first time Jonathan Crane wished Dr. Puckett would fall down a flight of stairs. And this wasn't the first time Jonathan wished he could introduce the man to gravity himself. _  
_

Jonathan's long legs crossed the waiting area for Puckett's office in three quick strides before the professor's TA could so much as rise from his desk and shout if he had an appointment.

He did not. Jonathan's visit was very much unannounced and unscheduled.

Barging into the office, the furious, bespectacled young man slammed Dr. Puckett's door shut, not for fear of being overheard but rather to get the insufferable man's immediate attention.

Dr. Puckett's head snapped up, the pathetic spread of graying hair circling his balding head appearing much like a toilet seat. He hastily placed his cellphone on his desk, facedown, and looked at Jonathan with clear alarm. Jonathan had the impression that he had interrupted something.

Good. It could obviously wait.

"You approved _Candice Ponder's_ paper topic but rejected _mine?_ " Jonathan pushed aside the chair so clearly inviting him to have this discussion rationally. He was past that point, instead slamming his hands on the edge of Dr. Puckett's desk to glare down at him.

Dr. Puckett blinked once, as if still stunned to see him. His watery eyes danced over Jonathan's features—no doubt taking in the dark circles under his sharp, blue eyes, the tufts of brown, lanky hair sticking up in the back of his head, and his most recent acne outbreak—before looking down at the papers on his desk. Puckett finally laughed humorlessly to himself, bringing his focus back to Jonathan again.

"Mr. Crane," he said, obvious regret at the conversation taking place tingeing his words.

Jonathan interrupted. "'Pavlov's Dog and Classical Conditioning.' _How_ riveting. You'll have to tell me if you read something there you haven't seen a thousand times before. That is, if you can get past the thesis statement she copied word for word from the textbook."

"Classical conditioning is an approved topic of the curriculum, since this is a _freshman_ Psychology course, as I've explained to you." Dr. Puckett spoke to Jonathan like he was talking him down from a jump. "I don't mean to discourage you, Jonathan, but your initial topic—how fear is the primary motivator for all life—it just isn't appropriate for this level. Even if you _could_ prove it within the 1000 to 1200 word count, it would be based mostly in opinion, not credible evidence. Such a topic would be better suited for Dr. Winslett's course. If you just waited—"

"I would have to wait _four_ semesters before I'm even considered _qualified_ to take his course," Jonathan bit out, blood pounding in his ears. "You don't honestly expect me to put my life's work on hold just because the rest of your class is full of idiots just looking to get their core credit."

"You had the opportunity for advancement," Dr. Puckett reminded him, his face reddening slightly in frustration.

"No," Jonathan practically snarled, "I didn't. My high school didn't offer Advanced Placement for Psychology, too focused as it was on booster clubs for the football team. And I was unable to test out of _your_ scintillating course thanks to our wonderfully proficient financial aid department, resulting in me being stuck on the waiting list while they took _weeks_ to approve my scholarship."

"That was hardly any fault of _mine!_ " Dr. Puckett pressed his hands on his desk, raising both of his shoulders defensively. He resembled a bulldog, and Jonathan nearly expected him to spray spittle at him like one.

"I don't care whose fault it was." Jonathan straightened to his full, gangly height, peering down at Dr. Puckett over the ridge of his square-framed glasses. "The only thing I care about is getting started with my thesis on _fear_ , not Freud. Twelve hundred words, though hardly a challenge, is as good a place as any to start."

"You need approval before you can use the same paper, or parts thereof, for different courses!" Dr. Puckett exclaimed triumphantly as he guessed Jonathan's plan.

Jonathan smiled and it was _vicious_. "I can assure you, that won't be a problem."

He turned his back on the professor, expecting to leave him in silence, soundly beaten. Instead, Dr. Puckett released a tired sigh, and the room seemed to breathe with him. Jonathan gripped the door handle, seconds from leaving.

Until Puckett managed to say the one thing that could make Jonathan freeze completely.

"If you hand in that paper, Mr. Crane, I will fail you."

Seconds passed, marked by the low ticking of the office's wall clock. Jonathan's hand dropped from the handle, and he turned back to Puckett, slow but steady.

A chilling, thin-lipped smile was perched on Jonathan's face, and his eyes were unnaturally bright. Puckett stared this down with a less pronounced sense of coolness, not realizing that he wasn't looking at Jonathan Crane anymore.

Not just Jonathan, anyway.

"Excuse me?" Jonathan who was also Not-Jonathan said, his voice slightly higher but rougher than before.

If Puckett noticed the difference, he didn't seem bothered. "I'm sorry for over-reacting before—and if it seems that way now—but I simply _can't_ allow for students to choose topics that stray from the curriculum. I promise, if you stay with the department, you'll have plenty of time to pursue your own interests soon enough."

"Before."

Puckett blinked again, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"You said 'before'." Jonathan crept forward, stopping only when the desk prevented him from advancing further. Puckett leaned back slightly in his chair, having to crane his neck to see Jonathan, who still stood at his full height across from him. Not-Jonathan's voice was mocking. " _Before_ you said I wouldn't be able to prove my thesis with credible evidence, but that simply isn't true, is it, Howard?"

Dr. Puckett flushed again. "Do not call me by—"

"Fear is _exactly_ the answer for why we do the things that we do. And for what we _don't_ do," Not-Jonathan continued mercilessly. His words were knives, and he seemed to know the exact inflections of speech to use to make them cut the deepest.

"You, for example, Howard, are afraid of many things that have had an overwhelming influence over this conversation. Shall I tell them to you?"

Dr. Puckett rose to his feet, glaring. "Get _out_ of my office _now_ before I remove you from my class!"

Jonathan slowly took off his glasses, storing them safely in the collar of his shirt. When he looked back at Puckett, his gaze was somehow sharper yet excited. Puckett himself couldn't pinpoint exactly what made it so remarkably different, other than the glasses being gone, but all he knew was that, where Jonathan had always looked the keen, calculating stoic, never before had Puckett attributed malice and mania to the student.

But he was sorely tempted to now, with Jonathan looking like that…

"You're afraid that you'll be rejected from obtaining tenure. _Again_ , landing you to teach freshmen classes for another four years. So you've painstakingly followed the curriculum that's been assigned to you, afraid that if you stray, that'll be all the others need to deny you—"

"Shut up," Dr. Puckett breathed, staggering back from his desk and staring at Jonathan with eyes as round and bright as the moon. "I told you to _get out_ —"

"You're also afraid," Not-Jonathan continued with a cruel smile, "that you've already made your greatest contribution to this field at the age of twenty-four. Fourteen _long_ years ago. I'm speaking, of course, of your article with the _Behavioral and Brain Sciences_ journal. Now, remind me, what was your topic?"

Puckett's jaw seemed clenched shut. Jonathan thought he wouldn't answer him until he heard a faint whisper.

"Classical Conditioning."

"That's right," Not-Jonathan purred. "A truly _riveting_ read. And not a single line plagiarized. I'm _so_ impressed."

"What do you _want_ , Crane?"

"Your cooperation. Because even though you're afraid of all of those things, Howard, I know what you _really_ fear, and it'd be a _shame_ if your colleagues found out about it."

At those words, Dr. Puckett seemed to snap out of his shock. Gaining confidence, he shook his head slightly, his lips quirked in a hesitant half smile. "Very impressive, Mr. Crane. But very vague. You don't have _anything_ to threaten me with, because there isn't anything to threaten."

"I wouldn't be too sure. Gotham University hasn't been the pinnacle of ethics in quite some time, but I'm sure even the current administration here wouldn't approve of your apparent weakness for blonde students with pretty smiles."

Puckett said nothing to that, but Jonathan watched with smug satisfaction as the man's sun-kissed face turned as white and colorless as that of his late grandmother's. As if on cue, Puckett's phone vibrated insistently on his desk, and his eyes flashed to it guiltily.

Jonathan replaced his glasses, and it was Jonathan alone who turned to finally leave.

"The due date for the paper was next Friday, I believe?" The familiar cool, almost bored tone was back, and with it, the stoic was firmly in place. Puckett felt a sense of whiplash so acute that he failed to rummage up an answer. "I'll have it on your desk by Monday. Oh, and professor?"

Their eyes met, Puckett's dazed and Jonathan's amused.

"I expect you to be a fair, honest, and unbiased grader."

The smirk that adorned Jonathan's face for the rest of the evening was both deserved and self-serving in that it kept everyone else from bothering him. He couldn't have asked for better results in being alone. After all, he had a very important paper to edit.


End file.
